Song Without Words
by Jexia
Summary: Legato and Midvalley first time in which the sax man's considerable talents come into play.


Subject: Fandom: Trigun pairing Legato/Midvalley  
Title: Song without Words  
Author: Jexia6  
Rating: Kind of a hard R, I suppose. Perhaps i'm jaded.  
Warnings: Oral with a tiny side of bondage  
Disclaimer: Yasuhiro Nightow owns the characters, not me. I'm just penniless and playing.  
Author's Notes/Summary: Challenge concerning the matter of just how well Midvalley's lips can work that reed. Must also make reference to the fact that Midvalley has named his saxophone "Sylvia." with fic specification that eyes are never, never referred to as "obsidian pools" or "cerulean orbs" Note the happy absence of orbs.

Song without Words

Knives Millions assigned Midvalley the Hornfreak to be Legato Bluesummers' right hand man as a means of toning down the excesses of his overzealous field captain.  
Legato was, by no means, the sax player's first choice of companion, but he was in no position to turn down the request, so he accepted it and got on with his life.

They spent their days together performing whatever missions Knives Millions wanted accomplished. Midvalley meted out punishment with the music of destruction, Legato with the power of his barely balanced mind.

With the mission accomplished when day was done, night after night Midvalley did what he usually did to let off steam. He made music--and not the music of destruction.

If he could hook up with a band in a bar, he'd play until the last set was over and sometimes jam all night. If there was no band, he would ask if he could play for tips. He seldom got turned down as gifted as he was, so night after night, he played until closing time.

Legato, it seemed, had nothing better to do, so he went along with the Player to the bars most nights. He ate and drank while Midvalley played and seemed to have no trouble listening for hours on end.

One night in a saloon near the city limits of October, the owner announced to the patrons  
"Put your hands together for Midvalley the Hornfreak, his legendary sax, Sylvia and guitarman, Vinny Norton.

Midvalley never heard of Vinny Norton, but they hit it off from the very first song.

They played off each other through set after set--two strangers whose musical ideas happened to mesh perfectly.

It was just one of those incredible nights where they hit a groove that wouldn't stop and started wondering if this was how it would be with each other in the sack, and if so, fuck me to tears, look out!

The flirting started with eye contact and lots of it. Eyebrows came next, followed by tongue action.

The guitarist had some extraordinary moves as his fingers stroked and plucked the strings of his instrument. Midvalley had plenty of his own as he sucked the reed and fingered the buttons of his sax. Talk about sweet music.

They ended up in the alley after the last set.

Midvalley had completely forgotten about Legato. After all it wasn't like they were sexual partners or anything. And anyhow, Vinny had him cornered neatly between two walls, and he was enjoying just a small sample of the guy's technique, which was incredible as anything he'd done with the guitar.

He strummed away on Midvalley's cock with gusto until the saxman splattered his come against the wall, both of them laughing the whole time.

"Heh, you owe me one, Player," Vinny chuckled.

"Let's get together after I pack up and I'll pay you back with interest," Midvalley replied with a randy grin.

"Done."

Midvalley had returned to the stage with a blush on his face, and a smile of high good humor on his face, already thinking of what other pieces he and the guitarist might end up playing before the night was through.

Midvalley looked over to Legato's table and was surprised to see the blue-haired man looking back at him. With interest.

Logic told him that look might mean any number of things. As much as the notion strained his credulity, instinct pegged the look as…hungry.

A hungry Legato was a dangerous Legato, the sax player thought, and as he and the guitarist packed their instruments, Midvalley made his excuses.

"Sorry, I can't pay you back tonight."

"That guy your partner?"

"You could say that."

"He looks jealous."

"You think so?

"Yeah, I do. Is he dangerous?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks," said the guitarist as he fastened the closures on his instrument case, picked it up and headed for the door. "The music was great. Hope to see you around again."

"Sure," said the sax player.

Which left Midvalley with Legato in the nearly empty saloon.

Legato stumbled slightly as he got to his feet.

Could he be drunk?

Midvalley stepped around the table to lend his right arm and found the slender man clinging to him lightly, eyes closed, like a tipsy dancer looking to her partner for direction.

Midvalley had never had any prolonged physical contact with Legato and he had certainly never seen him drunk.

It was puzzling, but he shepherded his blue haired charge to a hotel some half-block up the street, booked a room on the first floor and drifted up the hallway with Legato in tow.

He negotiated the door lock with expertise born of long practice, guided Legato to the double bed in the darkened room, and set down his sax. He was a little surprised when the man whispered, "Take my coat off."

Midvalley unbuttoned it as requested, and when he unfastened the decorative thigh strap, Legato moaned softly and leaned into the musician. Midvalley disengaged as he removed the coat with its spiked armature, hung it on the back of a chair and wondered what was going on.

Legato was still standing by the bed as though he was waiting for something.

With his heart beating slowly, a deliberate thump, thump, thump, Midvalley walked back and stood next to the slender man whose face was painted with the lights and shadows of the full moon.

"What do you want?" Midvalley asked.

"You know," said Legato.

"What?" said Midvalley with an odd feeling of certainty that he knew exactly what Legato was going to say next.

"What you were going to do with that guitar player."

Midvalley wanted more than anything to ask, "But what about Him?" meaning Knives Millions, but the words stuck in his throat and in a split second, he realized that no way was he going to turn down the offer.

He cupped Legato's chin with his right hand and slowly caressed the lower lip with his thumb until the mouth opened and he slid a finger in. When it came out wet, Midvalley got hard.

His arms encircled Legato's slender waist. His lips covered his mouth, his tongue slid in. He pressed his erection against the other man's crotch until breath and pulses quickened and built the rough edge of want in both of them.

Legato finally broke the kiss but leaned into the embrace, his hard length poking against Midvalley's groin.

"What do you want," Midvalley asked.

"Play me like you play Sylvia," he said.

Midvalley unbuttoned Legato's pants and slid them down past his ankles until his flanks were naked. He pulled off the other man's boots, socks, shirt and nudged him down to the bed. He undressed and fitted himself to Legato until they were lying chest to chest, groin to groin, mouth to mouth, quivering lightly in the faint breeze from the window at the thought of what might come of this.

Midvalley's tongue and hands began to play. He left wet kisses on Legato's nipples and massaged them with his fingertips.

"What are you doing?" asked Legato, in a trembling voice.

"Polishing my instrument," said Midvalley.

Midvalley's tongue went to Legato's cock, and licked it with slick teasing strokes.

"What are you doing," asked Legato.

"Wetting the reed," said Midvalley.

Legato panted and swallowed hard.

Midvalley left the bed, fumbled with his sax case and came back up again with something dangling from his hand.

It was his leather sax strap. He looped it around Legato's wrists and fastened it to the wrought-iron bedstead.

"What are you doing, Midvalley?" Legato's voice was languid and curious.

"Tightening the ligature on the mouthpiece," the musician said softly as he caressed Legato's thighs and moved his fingers to the pale column of flesh that pulsed in the moonlight.

When Midvalley began to play, Legato asked no more questions.

"Ah," he said when the tongue went to his slit and lapped there, and hands cradled his balls.

"Uh, uhn, um," he moaned when tight lips compressed the glans and glided on his shaft.

"Fu--oh…" he groaned as the wet mouth rode him up and down and fingers squeezed, shoved, and thrust into him.

"Oh!"

Legato could barely think and could not speak, but he knew the source of this feeling and gave voice as the fingers touched and probed and the lips licked and the tongue doubled and trebled the tender assault on the mouthpiece. Legato rode the edge until a second finger pushed him over, and he cried out again, "Ah-h-h!"

That was the song Legato sang that night when Midvalley first played him…

There were many other nights and many other songs, but that was the first night and the first song.

Later, after all the Gung-Ho Guns were dead, and Knives Millions was recovering once again from wounds inflicted by his brother, Vash the Stampede, he found himself wondering sometimes about Legato and the Hornfreak.

Before the showdown with his brother, he wouldn't have wasted time on the thought, but he was left with an enigma as he pondered the meaning of human devotion.

Had Legato killed himself to serve his master or because he lost his reason for living when the Player died?

After months of healing and thought, one day Knives Millions asked his brother what he thought about the puzzle.

"It doesn't really matter, does it?" said Vash. "He did it out of love."


End file.
